Silent Prayers
by xgraciela
Summary: Wilson is gone missing and things are getting worse...Read to find out more! Very strong House/Wilson friendship. Angsty and rated T for some violence and graphics. No slash. Please R&R. COMPLETED
1. Prologue

_**A/N: **Ok, we are nearing the end in the story 'Is Everything Alright?', so here's my new piece! Maybe a little bit longer and also angsty... It's rated T for some violence, lots of angst and mild swearing in later chapters. No slash!_

_ I hope, you'll like the prologue. If not, then give it a chance ;)_

* * *

Roy is sitting in his car, big and comfortable like everything he has. Even his name is comfortable. He is used to it. Five years. Same work, same name. Maybe he should change it. _Tim? Lucas? _But not now, not today, not this year. His work is all he has so far. Well, not exactly the best thing he could do, but he's satisfied and 'Roy' belongs to him. He never liked the name, which he received from his parents. 'Roy' has a secret, _'_Roy' is_ him_.

He wears his work suit today and has new orders from his boss. New job means new money. Simple mathematics. He knows it, even thought he wasn't really good at math in school. No problem, he was good in something else, wasn't he?

Outside the rain starts to fall down. Big drops are landing on his windscreen and flow slowly down as the glass is gets wet.

The weather has never stopped him. He has made a few mistakes before. Yes, for sure, but who hasn't? It was never because of the rain and it wouldn't be this time either.

He looks on the next seat. A gun. Just in case of problems, not necessary. This 'client' is not supposed to make any trouble. Handcuffs - the more important thing. Even trouble-free passengers might need something to hold them in place. A scarf. Even the most easy-going man doesn't need to see _where_ he's going.

'Be careful, I want him alive!' that was Roy's chief's words. And his boss is always right; he has to be, just for principle.

Roy's looking at the photos of his 'job'. One from a distance - the man in the snapshot is chatting with some other guy by his car. Roy assumes it is his car, because he's leaning on it. In the second one - the man is standing by the front door of some house. Nothing special here, so Roy takes the next one. More interesting. The stranger is kissing a beautiful woman - not a polite kiss.

Roy wonders why his chief needs to talk to this man. Well, _talk_ is probably the wrong word anyway. No visitor has come back yet. Roy doesn't ask, he doesn't want to be next. Why do these people have to _disappear_? It's better not to know.

He looks at the last photo. The same man. The same dark brown eyes, but there is also the time with the place on it: _5.35 pm in front of the hospital. _That's all he needs to know, nothing more. Roy checks his watch - nearly half past five. He lets the wipers do their job. He wants a better view.

After a few minutes his possible target leaves the front door wearing a black coat. Roy assumes the man has forgotten his scarf - there's only a polite tie hanging on his neck. He's carrying the suitcase.

Roy studies the snapshot one more time, quickly, when the other man gets into the car. '_Volvo'. _His boss wasn't speaking about the car, but what's the problem? Let's only use the plan B. He casts the photo one last look. Maybe the hair is shorter and a bit darker here? It's possible. The picture is probably already a few months old.

When the Volvo starts to move, Roy looks around. No one else to fit in the description. He steps on the gas pedal and brings his car to life as well.

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_Thank you for reading! Now be kind and leave me a cookie in the form of a comment : ) I really like them! _


	2. Chapter 1

Wilson sits in his office. He had a fight with House. Again. It wasn't just some sort of friendly banter, either. He remembers that he has yelled at the other man but he isn't sure what was the main reason. Was it House and his idiotic jokes? Was it House trying to mock him again? Or was it House and his omnipresent bottle of Vicodin, which angers Wilson the most?

Anyway, the anger is slowly flowing away from him now. He's sure he won't remember tomorrow, because it's ritual. He needs to yell time to time and then he needs to calm down. Cycle. However, he isn't sure about_ House_ today. He didn't argue back and it was weird. He was just listening and he seemed _hurt. _No, no way, House isn't this type either. Everything will be alright. Wilson will buy him lunch tomorrow and they will be fine. _Of course_, Wilson reassures himself.

For a moment he thinks about going back to his friend's office, to just knock on the door and see which way the wind is blowing, but then he stops himself. _House_ has shut this door _himself_ today and with rage.

He'll wait. This time it's House's turn to come back. Worst case scenario, Wilson can always act, but not today. He needs rest. It's Friday - after one of the most exhausting weeks he's ever had. He thinks about what to do this evening. Maybe going out with someone? No, he wants to be alone.

He decides to buy something at the grocery store. He will cook. His kitchen in the hotel room is small but it doesn't matter. He isn't in the mood for a meal that is delivered to you.

He grabs his coat and swears. Outside the rain overcomes the snow, but it is still only a few degrees above zero and he's forgotten his scarf!

It has been such a bad day, Wilson is sure it can't get any worse. He passes the main entrance and gets into his car, cursing at the weather.

He leaves his parking place and doesn't notice that the other luxury car is following him on his way.

* * *

At the grocery store Wilson parks his car once again and gets out. His mind has calmed down in the meantime and he's thinking about a hundred different recipes to cook. 

Roy stops his car as well. This is one of those big stores with large parking lot. Perfect! Just what he needs, anonymity is guaranteed. No hurry, this man will take his time to come back, but it doesn't matter, Roy has time as well. He settles himself comfortably in the seat and waits, his eyes fixed on the entrance of the building.

About an hour later Roy sees his target leaving the store. Now, it's time to act. He steps out and stands by the Volvo in a second. The gun is hidden under his jacket, handcuffs in his pocket.

Wilson is carrying two bags of groceries. They seem not to be heavy - he has them in one hand. With the other one he's probably fishing for his car keys.

Roy puts his most innocent glare on his face and stays by Wilson's car, pretending to look worried.

"Hey you! What are you doing here?" Wilson asks, looking uncomprehendingly at the other man. He hasn't seen him before, and he doesn't like strangers.

"Oh, I'm sorry to disturb you but your car seems to be open. I just wanted to stay here, in case someone would catch the opportunity to steal it from you," he smiles at Wilson.

"Really? That's very nice of you. I must have forgotten. Thank you, I'll take care of it." Maybe this man wasn't as suspicious as he looked at first. Wilson smiles back and approaches the front door on the driver's side. He puts the bags with the groceries on the ground to open the door. He shows his back to the other man and it is exactly the moment, for which Roy has waited.

He takes the handcuffs and quickly grabs Wilson's left wrist, dragging it behind him.

"Hey! What are you doing?" Wilson yells. The pain is spreading through his whole arm. He doesn't know if he should be scared or better angry.

"Stay calm. I don't want to use the gun from under my jacket!" Roy hisses and grabs Wilson's other hand as well. It hurts, but Wilson is too scared to do anything. He manages only to kick the other man in his shin.

Roy hisses again but from the pain this time. However, he doesn't lose the grip on Wilson's hands, not even a little. Instead, he grabs them and pulls upright. A silent whimper escapes Wilson's mouth when he feels that one small bone in his right wrist is definitely broken.

"I said, stay calm!"

Wilson grimaces his face from the pain but nods. He doesn't know what this man wants from him and he doesn't know what will ensue, and he's scared.

Roy looks around. No one seems to be watching them and that's good. In a moment Wilson feels the cuffs encircling his wrists. The pain radiates from the right one to the whole arm and the metal is incredibly cold.

"Now move!" Roy whispers into his left ear and Wilson shivers at the tone. They make their way to the passenger seat and Wilson is seated and his eyes are blinded with the scarf. He wants to do something, to call for help maybe, to...he doesn't know. His hand burns and he feels like if he has lost his voice.

"Good boy." He hears Roy and then the door of his car is slamming shut. _I'm trapped in my own car! _

Once inside Roy leans towards him. "Make a move and I won't be so kind anymore!"

Wilson startles. "What do you want from me?" He asks with a trembling voice. He hates it but he can't help himself.

There's no answer and he hears only the motor when the car is turned on.

**_tbc..._**

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_Thank you for commenting, all reviews are welcome: )_


	3. Chapter 2

"Do you want my money?" They have been going already for maybe forty minutes and Wilson is getting nervous. Still not a single word from his crazy captor. Nothing.

"Shut up!" And Wilson shuts his mouth because he's still afraid. Anyway this man surely doesn't look like he wants money. As far as Wilson can tell, he has nice and expensive clothes and a comfortable scent from some high-quality perfume is filling every space in Wilson's Volvo.

Suddenly the car stops. Roy gets out and comes for Wilson on the other side. He drags him out. "Any tricks, or...," he pulls at the handcuffs again and Wilson cries from the pain. His wrist is already swollen. Roy searches his pockets and finds his cell phone, pager and wallet. Everything is taken away from Wilson.

"Go!"

With the scarf still on his eyes he can't see anything, but it has to be dark outside by now. After a while Wilson realizes, that he doesn't even _hear _anything. They have to be somewhere far from civilization. He has his coat still on, but it's colder than before and Wilson shivers as the wind blows into his face.

_Do something! Escape from him! _The words are running through his head, but he isn't able to do anything. The fear grips him into place and his legs seem to be frozen to the ground at once.

'You coward!' He imagines House saying this to him mockingly and he has to laugh internally at the thought.

But what can he do?

They come into a building. After a while he feels a soft carpet under his feet. _What the hell is going on? _The next door opens and he's shoved inside. He stumbles and he's falling down, first on his knees and it will surely leave bruises. Then the rest of him falls, and he's lying on the floor. At least the fall has helped the scarf to go away from his vision and he's able to see again.

He hears a harsh laugh when he hisses from the pain when he tries to get up or at least scramble to his knees. He fails immediately at all his attempts, because it's hard to stand up with your hands behind your back, let alone a broken wrist. He resigns and leaves himself on the floor, but turns his head at Roy.

"Welcome. Wish you pleasant stay!" Roy closes the door and Wilson can hear him lock it up as well.

The room is small. One window in the middle of the wall and one 'sort of' bed. Nothing more. He manages to get himself into the corner and with the help of two walls he sits up and gets rid off that stupid scarf entirely.

His hand is killing him and he tastes blood in his mouth. After a quick examination with his tongue, he figures that he has probably bitten his lip during the fall.

He's near the tears when he closes his eyes exhaustedly and lets his head fall to the side, waiting for what will happen next.

Will someone try to find him? It's Friday evening, who would miss him on the weekend? Someone from the hotel staff? No. Cuddy? Probably not. _House..._ Probably not either, after today's argument. He's alone, he's miserable and he has no idea where he is and what will ensue.

* * *

House sits in his office. This day was from hell. His patient has died and on top of it all he had a great fight with Wilson. The worst thing was that his friend was probably right this time and the yelling was legitimate. Still House is pissed at him.

He grabs his cane, which was leaning against the desk and tosses the iPod into his bag. Music is good but now he isn't in the mood for listening to anything.

On his way to the apartment he thinks about pulling up by Wilson's hotel and maybe buying some beer - his way of apologizing. However, he doesn't do any of these things and leaves the hotel behind him.

The cold breeze blows against his face when he puts down his helmet. Once inside he sits on the couch and plays with his cell phone. He ends with Wilson's number on the screen but he doesn't find the courage to press the green button - call.

He tosses the phone aside and grabs the remote. Wilson will have to wait, today there will be no reconciliation. Well, Monday is a good day for that.

The evening is mostly quiet. House drifts off on the couch within ten minutes and Steve is training his small and agile body in the running wheel. The noise from the wheel is annoying but it doesn't wake House up.

* * *

With nothing to eat or even drink Wilson is left in the room, in the _cell._ Maybe he's dreaming, maybe this all will be gone when he wakes up, maybe...

A tear is slowly rolling down his cheek and finally, he is taken to the land of the sleeping.

**_tbc..._**

* * *

_Thanks for comments and keep them coming please : )_


	4. Chapter 3

Wilson wakes up in his hotel room. He can't believe it at first. The sun is shining through the curtains and drawing gold lines on his sheets. The pain from his wrist is gone.

_So, it was only a dream?_

He rubs his eyes and blinks several times. Once again, he sees the same picture of his hotel room.

_Everything is alright then._

Slowly he gets up, heading to the bathroom. He washes his face and then looks into the mirror when two strange eyes, which don't belong to him, are watching him. And they are cold...he has seen them already. It is...

He turns around and faces Roy with his gun pointed at Wilson's chest. Wilson stumbles and has to grab the basin behind his back for a support.

"What--?" He stammers.

There is no response and the gun glitters in the light. He closes his eyes, waiting for a bang. He feels incredibly cold.

The first blow is coming and he feels it rip his stomach apart. He doesn't feel the pain but other crashes are coming immediately. He doesn't feel them either and then...there's only blackness.

Wilson opens his eyes quickly. He's panting and sweating. _What's happening? _He looks around. Small room, one window, there is a light now - probably from the outside and it means that morning has already come.

He's shivering. He has never suffered from nightmares, so why now in this fucking situation?

The blows are continuing even in the real world and someone is yelling. Wilson recognizes Roy's voice. It's probably just his original way of waking him up without opening the door.

The dull thuds are echoing in Wilson's head. "Stop! Please stop it!" He yells.

And there is a silence for the moment, then the door opens for a few inches and a small plastic bottle with water flies into the room.

_Funny enough._ Wilson thinks when the bottle rolls to him and he realizes that his wrists are still behind his back. This won't be easy.

**_tbc..._**

* * *

_Sorry for the shortness, but I wanted this as a stand-alone part ;) Thanks for your comments, they are very kind!_


	5. Chapter 4

He struggles to open the bottle behind his back. He knows he should probably drink at the minimum, but he loses his fight and leaves the bottle unopened behind him. This sucks...if he only knew where he was and why. This whole fear and waiting is killing him.

* * *

A noble black car pulls up calmly in front of the building and an even nobler man steps out. A businessman at the first sight, but at the second... He gets into the house while his chauffeur drives away.

Once inside Roy hurries to his side.

The boss looks him up and down. "Everything alright?"

"Of course." Roy feels that his chief isn't in the mood and he almost feels sympathy with this funny man, who is waiting in the small room.

"Is he here?" His black coat rustles a little.

"Yes, he's in the _guest_ room." Roy smirks but narrows his face immediately when his boss throws him a hateful glare. _Okay, no jokes today. _Roy makes a mental note.

"I'll _see_ him later." The black coat goes away and Roy only nods. He _can_ be rough but his chief is always better.

The boss stops in his tracks and turns around. "Where is his gun?" He asks and Roy feels something is wrong.

"Eh...sir, he didn't have gun," he replies, unsure. _This is going to be bad._

"What!?"

"He didn't. I've only taken his papers."

"Where are they?"

"I'll bring them sir, just a minute." Roy runs away and his boss only shakes his head. He has always known that Roy is botcher, but give a botcher some money and he tries at least. And Roy _did_ try for the last few years.

"The car is parked, Mr. Brown." The chauffeur comes back and hands him the keys.

"I said don't call me by my name, at least not _here_!" Brown hisses at him. No one from his trashy staff knows his true identity. He's simply 'boss' or 'chief' and he doesn't want to change it.

"I'm sorry sir." The chauffeur is clever enough to leave immediately.

* * *

House wakes up early this morning. He's not sure if it is because of his leg or the terrible dreams he had during the night.

A pill...he needs a pill. He opens the bottle and takes his mercy. 'They are going to kill you one day and I'm not going to watch or help it!', he hears Wilson's words. He tosses the bottle away and dry swallows one bitter pill. The relief flows through his veins almost immediately.

A few hours later with a mug of coffee he slides down onto the couch, his cell phone lies there still. House throws a speculative glare at it. He checks his watch - almost eleven. Well, Wilson should be already up. Maybe waiting until Monday wasn't such a good idea. House is bored.

He dials his friend and waits. The other phone is ringing out, but no one seems to pick it up. This fact pisses House off, because Wilson always picks up his cell. It can only mean one thing - he is still mad at House. _Jerk._

House waits until the voice mail echoes. "Ok, don't be an idiot and call me back. I'm bored," he lengthens the syllables in the word 'bored' dramatically. Then he shuts the phone and throws it back to its previous place.

* * *

Wilson continues to sit in the corner, in the silence. His wrist is numb but hurts like the hell when he moves it. He's shivering. There is cold in the small room and his coat isn't really helping much.

He needs to go away, at least in his mind. He thinks about his Saturday in the normal world. He would sleep in his comfortable bed in the hotel room and then he would eat breakfast. At the thought of food his stomach clenches. He hasn't had anything since yesterday's lunch with...House. Yes, it had been before they argued...

What would he do after breakfast? Maybe watch some TV or he would read a magazine. Oh yes, he almost forgot. He should have called his mum today. Not that he hates these regular calls but somehow he feels uncomfortable when he has to spill out what he has done the last week. Oh God, how gladly he would do it now instead of..._this_.

The blood on his lip has already dried and the tears as well. He's drained.

_Please someone get me out of there!_

* * *

"Here." Roy hands the small packet of Wilson's belongings to his boss.

Brown picks up the wallet and finds the ID card immediately. He just stars at it for a moment. Then he turns to face his stupid servant. He's pointing to Wilson's name on the card.

"Who the hell is _this_!?"

**_tbc..._**

_**

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**I fixed one silly thing in my settings a few days ago. I didn't even realize that it had been blocked before ( so sorry if you couldn't react ). But from now even anonymous people can comment on my story! Come one, I'm thrilled to know what do you think : ) Again, thanks for reviews which I've already received!_


	6. Chapter 5

Roy blinks at him uncomprehendingly. "What? I mean, _sorry_?" He stutters.

"James Wilson, M.D. Who is this?" Brown repeats.

"Um...sir, this is _he_. He sits in the room and I brought him yesterday."

His boss seems to explode in a minute. "You idiot! You play at noble bastard and you are nothing! You...," he gasps. "It's not the guy I wanted you moron! Fuck!" He growls.

Roy still can't understand but he's sure something is terribly wrong.

"But...he was in front of the hospital in the time and he looks almost like the guy in the photo. I thought...," his stuttering continues.

"You probably don't think at all!" Brown grabs him at his collar and drags him towards himself. "You've caused a lot of problems, do you know that?"

Roy only nods. The hot breath from his boss is blowing to his face.

"Now go and bring me the right man. I don't care how you do it. His name is Barry Doyle. Now, get lost!" He pushes him back and Roy almost stumbles over his own feet.

He turns down his collar. "And what will we do with this guy over there?" He asks quietly. "Should I bring him back?"

Brown laughs. "You really are an idiot, aren't you? Things aren't always that easy. This one has surely seen your stupid face, am I right? I don't care about you but I don't need the cops behind my back because of your stupidity." He smiles calmly. "He has to stay as our guest for some time."

Roy nods and turns to leave.

"And tell Harold I want to speak with Mr. Wilson personally. But make sure he won't see _my_ face."

* * *

The door to Wilson's 'cell' opens slowly. He presses himself even more into the corner. They are going to kill him, he's sure of it. Then he sees a man in the ski mask. It's not the one who captured him. This one is taller and heavier.

Two muscular arms drag him up. His legs are trembling - he was sitting for a long time and they are numb. There is no single word from the 'gorilla' who is pushing him through the door.

And then he's sitting in another room. Bigger and lighter. The chair is _so_ comfortable after the hard floor! The gorilla is back within a minute and so is the scarf on his eyes. There is only the blackness again.

He waits and doesn't move. Not that he can't physically; he's just still scared like a little child.

"Welcome, Dr. Wilson. Nice to meet you." He hears a cold voice behind him.

Brown moves slowly through the room and steps in front of Wilson.

"My assistant made a mistake. You shouldn't be here, I'm sorry," the cold voice continues.

"What--?" Wilson says quietly and shakes his head. He just can't understand at the moment.

"He should have brought someone else, not you. Unfortunately," he makes a pause as if he's thinking about what to say next. "You happened to see his face and now you're listening to my voice. Two bad things for you. I can't let you go, you have to understand me." The cold voice is behind him again and he tries to turn in its direction. He doesn't answer.

_Where I am? When will this end?_

"I understand that you're angry at us now, but see my situation. I really can't let you go."

_What is this voice telling me? He can't let me go? I saw the face... Oh my God!_

"What---what do you want?" His voice is trembling, maybe he's sweating but he doesn't care anymore.

"You're my host for now, but one day we will have to say goodbye to you."

_They really_ want_ to kill me! _Wilson shivers and keeps his mouth shut.

"Again, accept my apologies. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time, nothing more."

_Wrong place...wrong time...?_ He was captured for nothing and now he sits here, listening to this mad man...He wants to cry again.

All at once he hears some 'snap' with the fingers and within seconds his hands are free behind his back. He drags them to the front and tries to flex his fingers. He fails with the right hand and grabs the wrist tentatively with his fingers. The pain is stabbing him. He bends in his waist and curls around the hand.

"You can go back to your room. I'll order you some food, you must be hungry."

Wilson wonders how can be this man so slick. He's offering him food only a minute after telling him that he's going to die? However, his stomach evidently has other thoughts when it clenches repeatedly.

He's grabbed and dragged to the small horrible room again. At least he has his hands free for now. Gorilla takes the scarf away, so he can also see. There's a pack of food, probably from some fast food place like McDonald's.

When the door shuts, he grabs the bottle, which is still present on the cold floor and drinks thirstily. _Finally!_ The water coats his throat. However, the food seems not to be the best idea. He's sick at the thought of eating something. But still, he can vividly remember the sandwich, which he ate yesterday with House in the cafeteria.

* * *

House's afternoon is quiet. He's doing his most fulfilling activity at the moment - watching television from the couch. He has tried to reach Wilson three times already. Still with no response and the voice mail has to be filled up with angry messages. It only makes House irritated. He can't understand why Wilson is still so insulted all at once.

Around five o'clock with nothing better to do he gets up and feeds Steve. The evening seems to be boring also, and he doesn't want to be bored at home. At least he can bore himself in the bar with a shot in his hand.

He doesn't wait anymore and gets dressed. Then he is heading to the darkness outside his apartment. His cell phone stays on the couch; he won't need it, not yet. If Wilson finally decides to answer, then he can wait as well. House is done with waiting for today.

**_tbc..._**

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_Thanks for comments! I really appreciate them : )_


	7. Chapter 6

The next morning Wilson wakes up on the floor with a twitching pain in his back. At least they allowed him to go to the bathroom in the evening, so he was spared from wetting himself.

He groans and sits up. _How long?_ How long will he be stuck here with no way out? He shivers when he remembers Brown's words: 'I can't let you go, I'm sorry,' and the cold voice behind his head.

This idiot brought him over here for nothing. He could be free if he wasn't in front of the hospital at Friday afternoon at the wrong moment. _Shit._ He doesn't know if he's scared, sad, or angry. Probably all of them.

* * *

House is awoken by the ringing of his phone. He blinks and groans when the noise makes his head ache. He doesn't know how he managed to get home the last night, he probably drank too much, and if this is Wilson... 

"Yeah?" He growls into the phone.

"Greg? Is it you? It's Peggy."

_Peggy? Do I know a Peggy?_

"Huh?"

"Peggy Wilson. James gave me this number in case of an emergency," she continues.

_James. Gave her the number. Peggy Wilson... Of course! It's Wilson's mum...Wait a moment, why is she calling me?_

"Greg, are you listening to me?" She asks, unsure. Peggy has seen him only twice - both times at her son's wedding, and she doesn't know him well. Gregory House is one big question mark for her, but now she needs his help.

House drags himself up to a sitting position. "Yes, what's up?" If Wilson's mother is calling him, something must be wrong. Suddenly he's completely awake.

"I...I don't know. He should have called me yesterday. He calls me every Saturday." _Typical for Wilson - following a schedule,_ House thinks.

"And?" He asks almost carefully.

"He didn't call me yesterday. I found this number and thought that he might be with you?" She speaks slowly, worry in her voice.

"No, he isn't there. Friday was the last time I saw him." He doesn't know what else to say. His hangover is killing him and he can't come up with anything better.

"Oh," she stammers. "He's not picking up his phone and when I called the hotel, they told me that they couldn't help."

This fits. Wilson wasn't picking up House's calls either. Is he in the hospital, working? Not likely. Even through his drunken mind, which makes a fog in front of his eyes, House can tell that something might be wrong. _However..._

"This is not my problem! What were you thinking? That I'll give him to you over the phone or what? I'm not his father, but you must know that already. Goodbye!" He snaps the phone shut and hates himself within a minute. He shouldn't have done that. Now Mrs. Wilson will call Cuddy and in a while there will be no peace in the world.

But now, he needs his Vicodin. He takes two pills at once and prays for the pain to go away from his head and from his tight.

Ok. Time to leave and look for his stupid friend. But if he finds Wilson sleeping in his bed or sitting in his office doing loads of paperwork, he won't be so nice anymore!

* * *

"What do you mean you can't let me in?" House is yelling at some poor young woman at the reception desk in the hotel. 

"It's the rule sir. I can't let anybody in, unless its an emergency," she stammers. This man is the last thing she needs today.

"Yes, exactly. And in _this_ case it is." House says and leaves her gaping behind him.

Once inside the elevator he has a bad feeling in his stomach. Wilson's probably alright, but then why didn't he answer the phone, even for his mother? The lift pings in the right floor and House steps outside. He looks both ways and sees a maid at one end of the corridor. Except for her, there's no one to be seen. It's Sunday and the hotel is quiet.

He makes his way towards Wilson's room. He has been there for several times, but never with such a bad feeling.

He knocks on the door and waits. There's no response, so he knocks again, harder this time. "Wilson! Open the damn door!" He shouts and earns a suspicious glare from the maid.

Nothing. House leans on the wall, thinking of possibilities how can he get in.

"Ok, you were right, I got it! Now open the damn door!" He tries again, and then he thinks for a moment. The maid seems to be his only chance.

"Hey you!" He growls at her when she steps out of one of the rooms. The young lady looks at him again and stops.

"Would you mind, if you get this room done a little bit early today?" He points at Wilson's door. She looks at him uncomprehendingly. "What?" She asks.

"I need to get in and you happen to be the only person around here who has the key card," his glance is cutting into her.

"I can't let you in. It's a private room," she answers stupidly.

"Oh, really?" House asks dramatically. "Maybe that's the point why I need to get in," his eyes are still piercing her.

"I said I can't let you!"

"I'm not asking you to let me. Just do your duty and open the room, that's the whole deal. I won't say anything."

"No sir, and I think maybe you should leave." She turns around, making her way to another room. House frowns.

"You don't do it and I'll tell your boss you're smoking at work in the rooms!" He shouts at her, making sure that she is listening. She stops and turns again, facing him.

"How...?" She looks humbled.

"For one, you have a lighter on your trolley, at second, I saw a pack of cigarettes in your pocket. And finally, almost every maid smokes in the rooms." He pauses and glares at her.

She shakes her head in pure disbelief, clenches her fingers around her trolley and makes her way slowly towards House.

"No one will know that, right?" She's eyeing him almost pleadingly.

"I'm a man of principles," House answers and watches how she runs the card through the reader.

Once the door is opened, he shoves her away, not listening to her complaints and limps quickly inside. He doesn't know if he's prepared for what he might see in there.

"Wilson!" He calls and looks round. However, the room is perfectly clean. The bed is made, sheets resting on top of it. The TV is off and Wilson's coat is gone and so is his suitcase. After one quick glance into the bathroom House knows that the room is definitely empty. He stops in his tracks as if he wants to get some answers.

The maid is still at the door. "Sir? Can I help you?"

"No forget it, I gotta go." House leaves her behind, disbelief still in her eyes. _Strange man_, she thinks but continues calmly in her work.

House lets the elevator drop him down to the basement. If nothing else, he's going to see if Wilson's car is still there. This hotel has simple rules. Every room has its parking space and it has the same number as the room itself.

House gets to the right place and only sees an empty spot.

_**tbc...**_

* * *

_Thank you for reading and commenting! Without you my writing would be useless!_


	8. Chapter 7

_Hi, I'm sorry sorry sorry for the long delay. ffnet is silly thing and it didn't allow me to log in for the whole week:( I couldn't even reply to your comments... I was trying to fix it many different ways (everything from clearing my cookies to even reinstalling my browser...), but nothing helped. Then, suddenly, few hours ago it _has_ allowed me to reach the server (finally!). _

_More chapters coming soon!_

* * *

The day flows incredibly slow in his cell. Wilson has leaned back against the 'bed' a few hours before. It has helped with his back, but his wrist is still screwed up. 

He heard some yelling earlier and recognized the cold voice. Two men were arguing, probably about the incompetence of one of them. The fight continues until now. Wilson isn't sure, but he hears the name Barry Doyle a few times. He hasn't heard of this man earlier, but it's a _funny_ name regardless.

There's the shutting of a door and then silence. Again. Wilson starts to think that he's going to go mad from this. He wants to move, to talk and see some friendly faces. He...he wants to see House and apologize, because if the pain in House's leg is at least half as strong as in his wrist now, he understands his friend already. But, oh God, will he ever have the chance to tell this to him?

He wonders what time it is outside, in the normal world. But does it matter? He isn't going to get out of here anyway. His stomach aches, his head aches..._shit,_ he doesn't know which part of his body _doesn't_ ache.

* * *

House steps out of his car in the 'cripple' parking lot. It's near the entrance to the hospital so he likes it. 

After checking some obvious places in the building with no success, he doesn't bother with waiting or knocking as he steps into Cuddy's office. It's no wonder she is here on Sunday. This woman lives for her job.

"Is he here?"

Cuddy blinks at him and drags her head slightly back in disbelief. "What?"

"I couldn't find him anywhere." He continues as if Cuddy has to know who he is speaking about.

"Who?" She still doesn't get his message.

"Wilson. I--"

Cuddy doesn't let him complete his sentence. "Yes, speaking of him. Do you, possibly, happen to know what's wrong with his mother?"

He gapes at her until the memories come. _Shit._

She smiles victoriously. "She called me and was very upset that her son's friend had been _rude_ to her." He takes a breath to say something, but she stops him with her hand and goes on. "She wanted to know what's wrong." Cuddy pauses. "Look, I don't know what you two have between each other, but I have _no desire_ to have some people calling me about it," she throws him a warning glare before continuing. "And I want you to call her back and apologize--"

This time _she _is cut of by House who has lost his control. "Are you listening to me for God's sake? I've just said I can't find him. Yeah, she called me earlier today. She said that he didn't answer her phone calls. I didn't want to deal with her, but I've left to look for him."

She looks at him suspiciously.

"Don't look at me that way. I'm the _good _one here, okay? I was in the hotel. His room is untouched, and his coat and car are gone. Plus, he isn't _here_ in the hospital either." He pauses, allowing her to absorb all the facts.

"You're trying to say that..." she says after a moment.

"I'm not trying to say anything. I just want to find him obviously," he snaps.

She narrows her eyes slightly and pushes her hands upwards in defensive position. "Okay, calm down. Sit."

House slides down into the chair and she puts her hands back down.

"So, when did you see him last?" She asks carefully.

"Friday afternoon. We had...we argued." He's looking at the floor and his cane is moving from one hand to the other.

"Okay, and then...?" Slight worries are building in her mind already.

"I don't know! I didn't call him, he didn't call me. We are not lovers!" He says almost apologetically.

Cuddy sighs. "Alright, but then you _did _try to call him, didn't you?"

"Yeah, and she did too," he points at the phone. "Negative."

"Are you sure?" She looks at him with sympathy in her eyes.

"What? Oh, I don't know, try to call him yourself. Maybe he just started to hate me and his mother in the same day. Interesting." House makes a face like he is absorbed by the fact.

"House, stop it!" She shouts, and then continues in a softer tone. "Did you look into his office?" She gets a nod. "Balcony? Cafeteria? Oncology ward?" Three nods in a row. "Clinic?"

"Yes, unwillingly, but no, he isn't there either."

"House! This is serious!" She's loosing her nerves.

"I know it's serious! That's why I'm here!" He gets up with the help of his cane to somehow support his statement.

"Okay, calm down." Again her hands are up. "Why did you...why did you two fight?"

House looks at her with questioning eyes.

"I--" she stammers. "I've just thought it might be connected with his disappearing." Cuddy says apologetically.

"The same things, like the last time and the time before." His answer is more quiet than necessary.

"Your Vicodin?"

House nods. "But I don't think he would emigrate because of it," he snaps again.

"Of course not. So, I'm calling the cops?" She asks carefully.

He gives her a serious face, which she isn't used to. "Well, I think they may listen to you more _keenly_ than to me."

**_tbc..._**

* * *

_Thank you for sticking with me and reading this: ) Also thanks for all nice comments, I really couldn't reply to them this time._


	9. Chapter 8

Roy sits in his car, waiting again. This time he won't screw it up. His boss has been a little bit annoyed, but it was understandable. Still Roy is sure that this whole 'accident' wasn't his fault, was it? How could he assume that this idiot, who looks exactly like Barry Doyle, would parade in front of hospital in the incriminated time.

Bad luck but now is everything under control. His secret source told him exactly, where Doyle would be and what he has today on. No more mistakes if he wants to keep his job.

When he's waiting, he has a lot of time for thinking and he starts to feel almost sorry for James Wilson - the man which he bought in by mistake. His boss is cruel and it doesn't matter if this man is innocent or not. For chief there's no exception. This man will die soon and also because of Roy.

Maybe he should go and say sorry to him? It won't help anything but at least he would feel better. No. It has no importance. When boss say something, it probably also happens.

He's ripped off his thoughts because of a figure, which is leaving a bank building. 'This time everything will click', he repeats to himself and makes sure that he has the gun and the handcuffs in the place.

* * *

A middle aged police officer sits in front of Cuddy's desk. He has introduced himself as 'sergeant Niles'. House has moved his body from the chair to the couch, but his eyes are still on the new person in the room. 

"So, how long is he missing?" Niles sounds bored. _Next case of mysterious disappearing_, he thinks. Anyway, first thing he will do after his return to a station, will be declaring this case 'ad acta'. Not that he isn't interested in help, but missing people are mostly found months later in the state, which no one would want to see. Or, more likely, they aren't found at all. Niles isn't sure what's worse.

Cuddy glances at House and then back at the policeman. "From Friday evening, I think."

"You think?" Niles looks suspiciously.

"Yes, I mean, the last time he was seen was at Friday afternoon and then Dr. House tried to call him but all attempts failed. "

Niles starts to write some notes but then stops immediately. "Wait a moment you're reporting him as missing only because he doesn't pick up his phone?"

Cuddy takes a breath to say something but House has lost his patience already. "Of course not! I was in his hotel room and it seemed untouched, like he wasn't sleeping there and he was nowhere in the hospital either," he snaps at the policeman.

Niles thinks a minute as if he needs some time to absorb every piece of information. "Excuse me? You've just said that Dr. Wilson lives in a hotel?"

This time Cuddy answers apologetically. "Only temporally, he's divorced."

The sergeant makes some notes and nods his head as if in confirming his thoughts.

"Please, don't get it wrong, Dr. Wilson is very responsible man, he's the Head of the Oncology department." She adds quickly.

"I see. So did he have any reason to go away on his own?"

"No," says House while Cuddy's 'yes' echoes in the room. Niles looks between them in confusion and House throws a killing glare at Cuddy.

"He had an argument with Dr. House right before." She pauses. "They are friends." She looks at House than back at Niles. "But I don't think he can take a few days off and doesn't leave any message. It's not his style. Every time he's sick, he calls me at least."

Niles nods again, scrawling something in his notebook. "Has anyone around his surroundings any reason to hurt or scare him? Any anonymous letters? Threats?"

House startles visibly at the word 'hurt', but this time sergeant hears only 'no' from both sides.

"OK, identification marks? Anything that could help us?"

"His car is missing too. It's a silver Volvo, registration number...wait a moment. Yes, EIR-55D." She adds and House wonders how Cuddy could be so prepared for the investigation. He had seen that number a million times, but he knows that he wouldn't be able to spill it out that quickly.

"Good, I've got his description, but could you give me one photo with him? I'll put it in the report for my colleagues." He seems to be finished and Cuddy hands him a small photo of Wilson which she has surely prepared as well.

"Wait a moment. That's all? When you really need the police for once, they're totally useless!" House growls at him and stands up from the couch.

"Look, I'm sorry your friend is missing," Niles says apologetically. "But there's nothing I can do for you now. I'll send his photo and description to other stations in the surrounding area. We'll look for his car as well. Still, I can't promise you anything. These cases are frequent, but sadly also mainly unsolved."

House stays quiet, so Cuddy offers the policeman her hand. "Thank you for your help, sergeant."

He smiles slightly. The man over there is mainly rude but this woman is nice and attractive. "It's my job. We'll contact you if there's something new in the case," Niles answers and takes her hand.

* * *

Barry Doyle sits in Roy's car with his hands behind his back; exactly the same position like Wilson had been in two days before. At the lights, Roy has an opportunity to look at him closer. Barry's eyes are covered with the scarf but otherwise, the similarity with Wilson is amazing. Maybe a little bit longer nose? 

The green light appears and the car continues in its tracks. Roy thinks about the destiny of both men. They look similar but probably don't have anything else in common. Except the near death... Unlike Wilson, Barry is quiet during the road, thanks to that fact his wrist isn't broken by now.

Roy pulls up in front of deserted building again and after a short walk, Barry is shoved into the small room.

Wilson pushes himself painfully upright on the bed and before he has time to say a word, the door is closed again and his new 'room mate' is lying on the floor, whining softly.

He blinks a few times cradling his injured hand. Then he slowly stands up and nears himself to the other man.

"Hey," he says softly and puts his hand on the stranger's shoulder.

Barry jerks away from the touch and tugs on his handcuffed wrists.

"Easy. I'm not going to hurt you, okay?" Wilson isn't sure why is he so kind to this man, but he can't help it.

Doyle nods and lets Wilson to take down the scarf from his eyes. Both men stare at each other in disbelief.

"You...you look like me," stammers Barry when he finds the courage to say something. Wilson is already sort of used to this place, and his brain takes it more quickly.

_You shouldn't be there...the mistake...I'm sorry..._ He hears the cold voice again and now everything fits perfectly together.

"Yeah, I think that's the problem."

After quick explanation they sit next to the other, leaning against the wall.

"I think I'm sorry," Barry says and looks into Wilson's face, which is smiling slightly. After two horrible days he at least has some company.

"It's not your fault. And by the way why do they _want_ you?" He asks.

"I owe the boss some money. They've already threatened me, but I didn't think it would end like _this._" He shakes his head.

"Barry? I think they want to...kill you..," says Wilson carefully. _And me too._

Barry smiles and Wilson doesn't get it. "What? You're smiling! What's so funny about it?"

"Nothing...I just...don't know what else will happen to me." Wilson still looks uncomprehendingly, so Barry continues. "Look, I'm bankrupt, my firm will be sold to some crazy idiot. I have no family and no friends. My parents are already dead. I really have nothing to lose." He sighs.

Wilson continues looking at him and shakes his head. This man is miserable but he can't understand how someone can have absolutely no fear of _death._ Well, Wilson _is _scared and he remembers House saying that there's nothing after. He will probably know that soon enough.

_**tbc...**_

* * *

_Thank you for reading and commenting!_


	10. Chapter 9

House gets home later that day and he feels empty. He tries not to think about what would have happened if he hadn't argued with his friend. He and Wilson would probably be spending the evening together watching some stupid movie, but anyways... Wilson wouldn't have to end like this (let alone _where_ exactly he is).

He snaps shut the bottle of Vicodin and lets it fall onto the floor. No TV tonight, but he just isn't sure if he can sleep at all.

Steve welcomes him with a squeak. "Good boy, here you are." House gives him his food and water and he doesn't remember being so kind to his rat. Something is wrong. Deep down he feels it.

* * *

The next morning he sits absently in his office, but he isn't listening to Cameron and Foreman argue about some medication in the next room. They have no patient now and it makes everything even worse.

House stands up from his comfortable recliner. With no idea what to do he goes into Cuddy's office, and he realizes he's been there quite a lot lately.

"No news?" He asks from the door, hope in his eyes.

"House, I know you're worried, I get it and guess what, _I'm_ worried too. But you can't just come over here every five minutes asking for news. I have work to do." She is a little bit annoyed, but she looks at him understandingly.

"I'm not worried...I just...," he doesn't know what to say. Is he really over there every five minutes? Probably not, but _still..._

"House, you are _friends. _It's natural to be worried, is it so hard for you to admit this to yourself?" She's not angry anymore and her voice is soft.

House's looking at the floor, memorizing one favorite spot. He speaks again after a while. "Just give me work or I'm going to go crazy."

"Well, there's always a lot of clinic work to do." Cuddy says it only to lighten the situation, but she has to stare at him with an open mouth when he turns around and goes in the direction of the clinic without a word. She runs out of the door, stopping him in the middle of the corridor.

"Is it really so hard for you to admit that you care about him?" Her hand is on his shoulder faster than she can stop it.

He looks at her with a serious face. "I already did." And without any more explanation he leaves her standing there, confused.

* * *

After killing time, House is done in the clinic. It didn't help to be there either. He still has to think about Wilson. He is heading towards his office when Cuddy meets him in the hall. It makes him stop and he gives her his attention.

"The police called."

He looks at her with a hopeful glare. "And?"

She shakes her head. "They don't have anything, it's too early." House lets his head fall down slowly, sighs, and turns to leave.

"I'm sorry." Cuddy calls behind him, but even she is touched by the fact that one of her best employees, one of her _friends _is gone and that there's no evidence leading to him so far.

She takes a deep breath and continues back towards her office. There is another person who wants to know the news, even the bad ones, and Cuddy is not looking forward to her next conversation with Mrs. Peggy Wilson.

* * *

The third morning Wilson wakes up again in the awful room. Still, it takes a few minutes for him before he's able to say where he is after awakening.

The other man, Barry, Wilson remembers, is still sleeping on the floor. He refused to take the bed and Wilson didn't complain. Complaining can lead only to trouble; he knows that already.

The water is gone. The small bottle for both of them wasn't really much, but who cares about dehydrating when you have only a few hours to live? No more food yesterday. Big boss has evidently decided that they have had enough.

Wilson realizes he's started to stink. No wonder after three days of being stuck in a messy small room with a cold floor, but hot and not very fresh air. _Life sucks._

Barry stirs and opens his eyes just a minute before the door opens and there is Gorilla standing in the entrance. Again with the mask covering his face. Wilson doesn't even have time to say goodbye to the other man. Barry is just dragged out of the room and Wilson is alone, again.

He hears the voices complaining and shouting. He hears Barry yelling 'I don't have your money anymore!' And then he hears a crash and a scared scream. The gun fires two more times and then there is a silence, at least for Wilson. He scrambles to the corner, _his_ corner, where he was before. He drags his knees close to his body and then he's shivering and maybe crying. He doesn't feel the pain in his wrist anymore. He just hears Barry's scream and the following silence in his head. Again and again.

_**tbc...**_

* * *

_I'm looking forward to your reviews! Thank you for reading._


	11. Chapter 10

Wilson doesn't know how long he has been sitting here. It might have been days, hours, or just a few minutes. He wasn't real friend with Barry. In fact, they have barely gotten to know each other and that makes it even worse. He's still shivering slightly and his knees are dragged to his stomach. He's holding them tightly.

It felt nice to have company in his 'cell'. He felt better with Barry next to him. Now he knows that his own end is probably nearing quickly.

Wilson doesn't get it how someone can be so cruel to kill for money. It doesn't make sense. But there are so many things in the world which don't make sense that he has to simply let it be and accept the fact.

He wishes, already for the millionth time in his captivity, to have House down there with him. Telling stupid jokes, making even stupider remarks, but reminding him by every motion that this friendship matters. He desperately wants to have the chance of seeing his friend again.

He thinks about his mother and father too. How will they be able to stand their second son's disappearance? He has never wanted that. Before this, he was sure he could make them proud of their sons, that he could ease the pain after David's disappearance. Now it's possible that he is in the same situation like David was. Did he also end up with blind eyes and a cold voice telling him total crap? Or was he shot three times like Barry, and had no time to defend himself?

Wilson has already failed on counting time in here, but he's capable of telling what day is it. Today is Monday, and he has been stuck here already for four days and nothing has changed. Has someone outside finally noticed that something is wrong? That he is actually _missing_? He hopes so.

* * *

When he expects it the least, the door flies open like today's morning, when they came for Barry. But there is no Gorilla anymore. Instead, Wilson is staring into Roy's eyes. He has seen them already, so nothing new, but now they are even more wide and piercing.

"Get up!"

Wilson manages to stand on his feet, albeit with much difficulty. Sitting in the corner didn't help his muscles to relax.

"And any tricks, or your second wrist will be in pain as well." Roy announces nonchalantly.

Wilson nods almost invisibly and realizes that he has totally forgotten about the pain in his hand under other circumstances. He curses inertly, because the damaged bone has probably already started to heal on its own and in the worst angle possible. _Of course._

Then the scarf is on his face again and he wonders what the difference is. He's going to die anyway so why all the dramatics.

He's forced out of the small room and something in him knows that he'll never get back there. Ironically, he's going to miss this place. _Hell_, he's going to miss almost everything!

He is led by Roy through the corridor and he feels a cold breeze against his face. There has to be the window opened, he thinks. Finally, they get into this astonishing room again. Astonishing because of the scent of it, Wilson will never forget this and the cold voice speaking to him there either.

"Doctor...Wilson. It was very nice to meet you but as I said, one day we had to say goodbye and this day just came."

Wilson leaves his head down where it is, his chin resting on his chest. He's sure, like never before in his life, what will happen. That he'll hear those agonizing crashes when the gun fires. He tries to inwardly prepare himself for the pain, for the shock, for the _death._ He fails miserably, and he only feels like his heart is pumping quicker than normally. It seems as though any second it should make its way up his throat. He can't think of anything else but Barry's screams and when he hears the cold voice saying 'Goodbye' to him again, he's sure he also hears the safety lock on the gun turn off.

He closes his eyes; even through they are still hidden by a scarf, he furrows his brows, narrows his head and waits for the shot.

**_tbc..._**

_**

* * *

**__I'm ready for threats! Just leave them here along with your comments! ; ) _


	12. Chapter 11

When nothing happens, he allows himself to take in one shuddered breath to keep him from passing out.

"And make sure he won't get out of the car on his own," says the cold voice, but it isn't directed to Wilson. "I don't want any more mistakes, you understand?"

There is a silence, so Wilson assumes that the other person has nodded. _Shit_, he's scared to the death, how can he _assume_ anything?

Then it comes. An agonizing punch to his abdomen. Wilson doesn't know if he should fall down and curl himself into a tight ball or if he should just cry out from pain or both together. And then there is another blow. It hits his jaw, fortunately not breaking it, but he immediately sees stars in front of his eyes, which are hidden under the scarf.

"Not here!" He hears the cold voice again. "I don't like seeing people suffer." The man smirks.

Wilson whines as the strong hands grab him again and lead him away. First time in this whole theatre he doesn't get it why they haven't killed him already.

_Where the hell are we going?_

Once outside, someone leans into his left ear, still gripping him strongly in place. "It's gonna look like an accident," he hears Roy saying.

_What?_

It must be already dark outside, because Wilson doesn't see any beams of light leaking through the scarf. It's also pretty cold. At least they let him have his coat.

His jaw burns from the blow and there is already a bruise forming on his face, when he's shoved into the car. _Wait a moment... _Yes, it's his own car! He remembers the scent immediately. He assumes that Roy has seated him in the back, and the fact that his knees are hitting the seat in front of him confirms it.

Wilson puts an arm down next to him and freaks out when he feels something cold and damp. _What the hell is this?_ He takes another deep breath and recognizes that not only the accustomed smell of his car is around. There's something else, and after a few seconds he's sure that he smells Barry's polite cologne mixed with the scent of drying blood.

* * *

"House! You really should go home. You've been here the entire day." Cuddy steps into Wilson's office. She was sure she would find House there. His ducklings are already gone, and the whole hospital is quiet in the evening. 

He looks at her, legs propped on the desk and the sad face of desperation catches her, unprepared. She lowers herself into the chair opposite the table and looks at him in the silence.

"You should get some sleep, really. There's nothing you can do for him right now." Her voice is soft and calm.

"Yeah? Really? And what should I do at home? You assume I will get into the bed, maybe wet my pillow a little, and then sleep this off and it will be okay tomorrow? There's nothing I can do right now, but the main question is, if there ever _will be_ something I can do again!" He lowers his eyes, "I can't just go to sleep with this on my mind."

She stares at him blankly. Then she gets up and moves closer to the desk, facing him again. "I'm sorry. I...I hope he'll be alright." Cuddy turns and leaves the room and she's near tears.

With crossed fingers in his lap, House continues to stare at all the things which are reminding him of Wilson. So far, it's been only three full days and he misses him already so much; even his cursing about House's Vicodin. House has never realized and neither would admit that the potential loss of Wilson would have such an enormous affect on him.

* * *

By the time when the car stops moving, Wilson is already very sick from that scent and from the imagination that it's Barry who's lying beside him..._dead._

He hears the front door open and then there are quick steps. In a second, the door beside him is opened as well and the scarf is gone. Wilson blinks a few times, then he can see everything. Because of the dark outside, his eyes don't need time to adjust. The car stands on some big but empty parking spot near the big road.

Roy is standing nearby as if waiting for something. He's looking around.

Wilson glances at his left side. As he has assumed, Barry's unmoving body is sprawled out on the seat. The sight of him is disgusting. Three holes in his pale body - one on the forehead.

_Well, at least he went quickly._

Wilson feels dizzy all at once. His jaw is burning and he doesn't know how to sit to alleviate the pain in the abdomen. The blows were pretty hard.

"Okay, let me say, I don't have anything against you. You were just one mistake, which will soon disappear. I'm sorry." Roy takes the opportunity to say something when his boss is out of sight.

_Everybody is sorry, that's nice._

Wilson doesn't say anything; it's hard to focus for him. Beside all of the things which happened to him, he is also starving and feels incredibly weak.

"Sweet dreams!" Out of nowhere the gun appears in Roy's hand and it lands on Wilson's temple. Not much of a hard blow, but it's enough to bring Wilson into a deep slumber. His head falls to the side, exposing his neck.

Roy smirks and closes the door again. Then he goes towards the trunk to put out a canister with gas probably in it. He moves back towards the front side of the car and opens the can. Two or three spatters will be enough. When he's finished, he closes the can again and fishes for a lighter in his pocket.

The gas catches on fire almost immediately and the flames are spreading fast on the hood of the car. Roy only nods his head and goes quickly away. This will be the perfect accident. When the car explodes, there will be no possible way for the cops to take away any evidence.

He comes to another car, which is standing nearby and gets in. After a while there are no more signs of him.

_**tbc...**_

* * *

_Thank you so much for all awesome comments! Also many thanks to the new people, who put my story on their alert list, but if you do so, you might as well want to tell me what do you like about this - reviews are equal to happiness for me! ; )_


	13. Chapter 12

Wilson is awoken by a strong fume, which is filling his lungs. He opens his eyes and coughs heavily. His head is killing him by doing so. There is incredible heat in there and he tries to open the door. It holds firmly.

He looks around but his eyes are filling with tears from the smoke. He needs to get out! He has to be able to open the door!

He fights with the lock another few moments and slowly gives up his hopes. When he's tired of trying and when his lungs are screaming at him in agony from the lack of oxygen, he lets his body fall to the side, leaning onto the door.

_I failed._

For a split second he thinks he's really going to die. Then, like a miracle the door loosens under the weight of his body and he, unprepared, falls onto the ground next to the car.

He hits his shoulder but it's nothing to worry about right now. He coughs a few more times and forces the fresh air into his body.

_I must get out!_

He scrambles to his feet. It's like he's in a bad dream. He's standing there, looking at the burning car and at his hands, splattered with Barry's blood, or his? He's unable to move, frozen in place, and he starts hyperventilating and shivering - maybe from the cold outside, maybe from the angst.

He doesn't know how long he's been standing there (in fact it's only a few seconds) when the car pulls up close by. A young man gets out quickly and for a split second they stare at each other. It's dark so neither of them can see much, but Wilson's figure is lightened a little by the flames.

In shock he quickly looks down at his hands again - blood.

_It looks like I've killed him!_

He panics and in a moment he's able to run again. He's scooting away from the car, from the other man.

_Need to get out! Need to run away! He's going to call the police!_

"Hey! HEY! Wait a second!" Yells the man. "Stay or I'm calling the cops." He must be stupid but he seems to really believe that Wilson is responsible for the whole mess.

It only makes Wilson run faster to the forest, which is in the general vicinity of the road. Now he's grateful that they are far away from the city. When the darkness swallows him up, he slows down a little but he's still running and he doesn't care if the low sticks are scratching his skin.

The man shakes his head, but he has better things to do now than go running after this _crazy gangster_. He grabs the extinguisher from his trunk and runs quickly to the burning car.

He manages to get the fire under control a little and finally has time to call the police and the fire department. Hopefully the car hasn't exploded yet, but the sight of the figure inside makes him sick and the scent of the burnt flesh as well.

* * *

House finally gets home that night to find a starving Steve but otherwise only an empty and cold apartment. What did he expect? That Wilson would be sitting down on the couch, beer in one hand and his legs propped up on the coffee table? 

Maybe Cuddy was right and he should sleep off this crazy, bad feeling. He feeds Steve and scratches his back, the thing he does only very occasionally.

He ends on the couch with a beer in his hand, but the TV is off. Not that he isn't in the mood, he can't just stand these stupid shows today. It's almost past midnight and House realizes that he's more tired than he thought. Maybe a nap on the couch for a few hours won't be a bad thing. He can always wake up, can't he?

He drifts off quickly, even without his nightly dose of Vicodin but he can't get rid of Wilson even in his dreams. His friend gets injured or sick a lot of times and House isn't able to help him.

He's almost grateful when, around three o'clock in the morning, his phone rings and wakes him completely.

He sits up and passes his hand through his hair, and then he looks at the screen: Cuddy. His heart thoughtlessly speeds up and he realizes that his hand is shaking slightly above the green button.

"Yeah...?" He answers the call carefully.

"House...they found his car." She pauses but when House doesn't respond, she continues. "It was about 60 miles away from Princeton."

"And?" He asks, not sure what he wants to hear.

"It was burnt, but not totally. They found his cell phone, his credit cards and also his ID card inside." She speaks cautiously, and it's driving House crazy.

"AND?" He's sure she's hiding something from of him.

"House...," another pause and it means something is wrong. "They also found a body inside...and they want us to--" She can't end the sentence.

For House it feels like being stabbed directly into the heart with a blunt knife. He shuts his eyes and tries to calm himself a little. He wasn't expecting this call, he just still hoped that maybe...

"House? Are you there?" Cuddy asks, unsure. "I know how you feel but it might not be Wilson...," the tone of her voice betrays her - she has been crying already.

"I'm on my way." House says and snaps the phone shut.

Then he sits there in the silence and he isn't sure if he's prepared for what might come next.

* * *

_Thank you very much for commenting : )_


	14. Chapter 13

Wilson keeps running. Sometimes it feels like he is climbing. He isn't sure if he runs in circles, but when he's so exhausted that he can't continue, he lets himself slide down under a tree.

There is silence and total darkness. It satisfies Wilson and he calms himself down a little. Maybe he was just overreacting. He should go and tell someone what's happened. But how? He's in the middle of nowhere and he's probably already suspected of homicide. The experienced stress and the shock seem to delete the last few moments from his mind. _It's ordinary, _his medical brain repeats to itself over and over.

He hasn't got the energy to do anything right now, so he lets his head rest against the trunk of his _guarding_ tree and falls asleep.

* * *

Cuddy is waiting for House in front of the hospital. _Of course, she has stayed here. _He is driving his car today. There's neither the mood nor usefulness for his bike. 

She has been crying. Her make-up is a mess and her eyes are red - at least from what House can tell in the darkness outside. She gets into the car in the silence and they don't speak the whole ride to the court pathology. Not that they can't, there's just doesn't seem to be any good reason.

They are stunned to find Sergeant Niles waiting for them in front of the building. He looks official but wears a glare of compassion on his face.

"I'm sorry to meet you under these circumstances." He offers his hand to them. Cuddy takes it but House is just leaning onto his cane, standing behind them quietly. His worst dreams are coming true and he can't do anything to stop it.

When neither of them says a word, Niles continues. "We've found three gun-wounds on the body and he's very...he's in a bad state. Please keep that in your mind." His voice is calm and soothing, but nothing can soothe their fears now.

"Gun-wounds? It means that he has been shot?" Cuddy asks, terrified. House just closes his eyes and turns his head to the side.

"Yes, and then they must have left him in the car, which was set on fire purposely." Niles states.

"Oh my God..." Cuddy suppresses a sob.

"They wanted to clear all their tracks. Fortunately, someone put the fire under control and we were able to take the fingerprints. It won't take long to catch the culprits."

Cuddy nods. _But it won't help Wilson._

"One witness saw a man by the car. He ran away, but we are sure that he has something to do with the crime. However, the witness wasn't able to give us a better description."

Another nod. This information isn't very helpful now.

"I'm really sorry for you having to do this. Who will come with me inside?"

The thought is horrible. Cuddy looks over her shoulder at House, who looks as miserable as she has never seen him, but his eyes are opened wide now.

"Both," she answers firmly.

Niles only lifts up his brows but doesn't say anything. This moment is the worst for people close to the victim. The death itself is nothing in comparison with identification of the body.

"Ok, this way please." He leads them inside where a young pathologist is standing over an opaque bag.

They step closer and Cuddy doesn't know if she should cry or vomit, and House, who's standing next to her, doesn't make any sounds.

The moment when the bag is opened Cuddy is sure about vomiting but instead, tears are filling her eyes.

The body is mostly charred, hair almost all gone, but there isn't a doubt. The similarity...This _is_ Wilson.

House doesn't say a word. He just turns around and leaves, his limping much more pronounced.

Cuddy nods almost unnoticeably at the pathologist, and the young man is clever enough not to ask another questions. He nods his quiet reply and closes the bag again over the corpse.

Not sure about her own emotions, Cuddy leaves the room and finds House in the corridor. He sits quietly in a cool plastic chair, head in his hands. The cane has fallen and now is lying on the floor.

She puts her hand on his shoulder and is stunned when she feels the_ trembling_. She doesn't need anything else. Suddenly, Cuddy wants to cry even more.

* * *

_Really_ _many thanks for your reviews!! _


	15. Chapter 14

_I'm really sorry for the big delay!! You can blame email providers this time - we somehow couldn't get in touch with my beta...I hope you are still waiting for this and thank you for all wonderful comments on the previous update. I really love them: ) This chapter is a little bit longer than the last one, so I hope you'll enjoy!_

* * *

During the ride back neither of them speaks and House stares into the distance with tired eyes. Cuddy is driving, because she isn't sure if House can. 

She pulls up in front of his apartment. House looks miserable and she wonders if he will ever be able to function normally again. These thoughts are making her sad, even more than she already is from the death of her colleague, of her _friend._

"Take a few days off, I'll understand if you--" she can't finish the sentence because House cuts her off.

"Few days, huh? And what then? Can you even imagine how it will be? Without him?" He turns his head to the side, facing the door.

"House I'm sorry, I will miss him too." She's near tears, for the umpteenth time this night.

"The hell you will miss him!!" He growls at her. Then he pauses and just stares. "_Shit_," he says silently, looking back to the ground.

There's a hand on his shoulder, again. "I'm sorry." She doesn't know what else to say. She feels empty like never before and she's sure House must feel much worse.

He lowers his head and steps slowly out of the car. He doesn't say goodbye or anything else and she doesn't wait for it or want him to. She allows herself to cry finally, because it's easier to cry when you are alone. The car stands in front of the apartment for a long time before it moves and disappears in the distance.

* * *

The apartment looks as though nothing has changed. There's a typical House-mess everywhere and food leftovers on the coffee table, a beer bottle next to them. Even the squeaking of Steve's running wheel sounds the same way as before. 

House lets his cane fall down and limps to the kitchen, where he grabs a bottle of scotch. Before, in the pathology lab, crying seemed to be a good relief, but it isn't his way of dealing with problems.

Today he wants to get drunk and forget everything. It is said that people don't realize how much something is worth until they lose it. _Sad truth._

With the sixth glass in his hand, House loses almost all his senses and alcohol flows in his veins, in his brain. His eyes spot a photo of him and Wilson on the wall and he can't bear to look at it anymore. With an effort, he scrambles to his feet and limps towards the wall. He smashes the picture with his hand and it falls down, the glass shattering into a million little pieces.

Suddenly, there's nothing in his drunken mind to hold back the tears, and soon they are sliding down his cheeks and eventually landing on the photograph.

* * *

Wilson wakes up and there's a light around him. He has a headache, probably from the smoke inhalation and the blow to his temple. His jaw doesn't burn so much now - instead there is a bruise on his cheek. 

His wrist is swollen and his stomach is making him want to curl himself up with almost every move. _Please, don't let there be something ruptured._

There are some blank pages in his memory but how much? Only a few? He isn't sure. He doesn't know how he gets there, but he remembers the sight of Barry's body next to him and he remembers this small horrible room, where he was for more than three days.

He also remembers that the police probably have his description already and are hunting after him. _I have to disappear, quickly._

There's no way he can stay here for a long time. He has to go away. But to where and how? He has no idea where he is. It might be hundreds of miles from his 'home'. Well, he's used to calling his hotel room _home._

He needs to get there and find someone close to him, maybe from the hospital? No, they won't believe him either. He needs to find Cuddy, or better, _House._

Memories are coming quickly back. They argued and then he hasn't seen his friend since. He remembers that he wants a chance to see him again and to say that he's sorry.

Wilson doesn't know how, but he has to find him, or even better his apartment. There he will say what has happened and everything will be good again.

His stomach clenches. He hasn't eaten anything for a good two days. He's dizzy when he scrambles to his feet and he's cold. The night surely wasn't one of the warmest and his coat isn't very helpful.

Shivering and still little out of his mind, with a hand on his abdomen, he heads away from his 'hostel'.

* * *

House is awoken by the tone of a ringing phone. He realizes that he's sitting on the floor next to the fallen picture. 

His leg isn't enjoying this place, but who cares. There's nothing worth fighting about in his life anymore. He moves his head slowly only to be stabbed by agonizing pain. He shouldn't drink so much, but who cares anyways.

The phone is still ringing and he fights with his thigh to be able to pick it up. However his leg has its own mind, so he has to crawl towards his cell if he wants it to stop ringing so agonizingly.

He switches the ringing off by pressing the red button and lets the phone fall back down onto the floor. He isn't interested in phone-calls now. He'll never be again.

House searches the room for his bottle of Vicodin. It had to have fallen out of his pocket when he came home this morning. He desperately wants to find it and take ten, or rather all the pills left to stop his pain, both physical and emotional.

He finds it lying by the door next to his jacket and he makes his way slowly towards it. He's annoyed to find only three pills left. This isn't going to help him!

He takes them regardless and soon feels the pain ease - at least in his head and thigh; the one in his heart stays with him.

The phone is ringing again. House thinks about shutting it down or throwing it out of the window, but finally, he picks up.

"Leave me alone!" He shouts.

"House?" Cuddy's voice is trembling. "I just wanted to know if you're alright."

"No! And don't call me to ask stupid questions." House snaps.

"Erm...I'm sorry, it's just that there will be some kind of farewell session in the hospital this evening. I thought you might want to come?" It had been a bad idea to call House, but she had to try it. She's still crying - it's visible in her tone.

"Oh yes, why not?!!" He is angry. "Let's get over with it! I'll bet that you're already looking for the replacement. Who's going to win, huh? Some nice blond slick?" He hears her crying, but he can't help it, he's angry at the moment.

"House, the hospital needs to function. I can't be without a Head of Oncology." She pauses, thinking about what to say. "I'm sorry. Just please take care of yourself and...be careful." It's better not to anger House more than he already is.

He doesn't answer a word and snaps the phone shut, making sure it's turned off this time.


	16. Chapter 15

Wilson finds himself standing by a busy road. He doesn't know how he got there. After a while of thinking he realizes that he doesn't have money, his credit cards or his phone. This will be hard.

He goes a while at the side of the road, but it doesn't seem like a good idea for his aching body. He stops and leans against the crash barrier. He knows he can't continue.

He decides on hitchhiking. Not very safe style, but it's his only chance.

He waves at some cars. None of them stop and Wilson is slowly losing his faith. Some drivers rather make the curve around him instead of stopping the car.

When he wants to give up, a small black car pulls up by his side. Wilson looks at the driver side. In front of the steering wheel sits a middle aged woman - good.

"Hello, can I help you?" The woman says after opening the door at Wilson's side. If she is startled by Wilson's appearance, then she doesn't let it show on her.

"Uhm...yes thank you." Wilson is surprised by the harsh tone of his voice. He must have caught a cold during his night outside. "I...I had an accident and I need help."

"I see, so do you need a ride?"

Wilson stares at her for a while. _Ride would be nice but if she has a phone..._

"Do you have a phone? I need to make a call." He says hopefully, but she only shakes her head.

"I'm sorry. They've stolen it from me two days ago." She sounds apologetic and Wilson wonders how it is possible that such good-natured people are still pacing round the world.

"So, where are you going?" Wilson asks.

"Princeton. Is it your direction?" She smiles again, like an angel.

"Yeah, actually it is," he smiles back.

_I still have some luck._

"So, would you mind if I went with you?"

"Not at all. I'm Maggie." She offers him her hand and he automatically gives her his right one, but whines from the pain when she squeezes it.

"Are you alright?" Maggie asks in a concerned tone.

"Of course, I've only had this accident and I...I've hurt my hand." Wilson doesn't want to tell his stories to a total stranger. He just wants to finally get home.

Once in the car he realizes how messed up he looks when he glances into the rear-view mirror. He really wonders why this woman has stopped for him. His face is dirty from the soot and his clothes too. He looks like a junkie.

After ten minutes on the road, he tries to make himself comfortable in the seat and hisses from the pain radiating from his stomach.

"Are you really okay?" Maggie asks again.

"Yeah, really," he lies.

She looks at him from the corner of her eye. "Wait a minute. I've seen your photo in the news this morning. The police are probably looking for you." She says, but continues driving.

_Shit. Every lucky time has its end._

"What? I mean, are you sure?" Wilson asks innocently.

"Yes, or the guy is really very similar to you." Maggie doesn't mean it ironically; she's just so _naive _maybe.

He doesn't answer for a while and looks outside. _This won't be good. I gotta go. _His eyes spot a sign by the road. 'Gas station - 0,5 miles' This could be good.

"I think you've mixed us up. There's no reason for the police to look for me, really." Wilson tries his sweet smile, but it's hard to smile after four days of living through the hell.

Maggie doesn't answer. _This is bad._

"Look, I'm a little bit hungry and in the near is a gas station. Would you mind dropping me off there?" _Please don't ask other questions._

With the hunger he didn't lie, but the problem is that he doesn't have any money, so even the station won't be much helpful. At least he can run away from these suspicious looks from Maggie.

She stays calm for a few seconds and Wilson pries for her co-operation.

"Sure, whatever you want. I hope you'll be alright." She adds one of her own sweet smiles.

"Thank you for your help," Wilson says when he's getting out of her car.

"You're welcome. Do you need anything else?"

"No, no, everything's good, thanks." He nods.

"Goodbye then." By these words Wilson feels a cold wave creeping on his back. He shuts his eyes and tries to fight off this unpleasant and lively memory.

"Bye," he manages to get out after a while. Maggie nods and closes the door from inside, and in a second, she is gone.

Wilson shivers a little. He isn't sure if Maggie would insist on her opinion of his photo in the news. Anyway it was better to escape earlier than later.

He wonders how far they got. He turns around and goes towards the station and he hopes that not many people over there have seen the morning news. He tries not to admit to himself that he's nauseous and that he can hardly focus on the objects.

* * *

House makes his way to the bathroom. He has never felt so miserable, not even when Stacy left, or after his infarction. 

He leans onto the washbowl and lets the water run onto his face. He wonders how long he will have this terrible feeling in his chest. It's really like having been stabbed and the knife left inside.

The cold water helps a little. Then, he dries his face with a towel and tosses it away. He looks into the mirror on the wall. It seems like if he has gotten older at least for ten years.

Dark circles under his eyes, grey hair on his sides and a tired face. Two weeks before, he was sure that _he_ was the one, who would die earlier and not Wilson.

The police don't know anything. They are still _searching _but House doesn't believe them. He thinks that they will never find the murderer, that he will never know why his friend had to die.

Thoughtlessly, he drags himself to the bedroom. His head still aches and he isn't strong enough to fight the reality. House just hopes that his dreams will be better.

* * *

_Again, many thanks for the reviews!! 'Sad' news: I'm leaving my town for a week, so I won't be able to update for a while. But don't worry, the story is still alive!! _


	17. Chapter 16

Wilson steps inside. The few people who are there are throwing him suspicious glances, but surely not because of the morning news.

He looks terrible. His face, his hair and his clothes are dirty and he's sure that he has to smell. None of these are his main problem. First thing he needs - a phone.

There's a big counter with food and drinks under the glass. It makes Wilson even hungrier. He steps closer to the cashier who stands behind the counter.

"Can I help you?" He asks and contemplates Wilson from head to toe.

"Yes, I...I need to make a call, could I use this phone?" Wilson's voice is still harsh and he narrows his eyes to focus on the other man.

The cashier glares at him suspiciously. "Of course, if you give me one dollar." He looks bored but he doesn't seem to be a total jerk so Wilson has to try it.

"Eh...That's my problem. I had an accident and they've stolen my money, please can I get a free call?" Wilson hopes that this man has a heart.

"To the police?" The man obviously doesn't believe one single word Wilson is saying.

"No. I mean, they know already, but I need to call someone else to pick me up." He stares at the man hopefully.

The cashier casts him an even more suspicious look. For him, Wilson is only another junkie who doesn't have money at the moment. On the other hand, he doesn't want to have problems with any gangs over here, so it will be better to allow this crazy man to do what he wants than to argue with him.

"Ok, suit yourself," he says and moves away to another customer.

"Thanks." Wilson answers gratefully.

Finally he can call someone and tell them where he is and that he needs help. But now the problem comes. All numbers are in his phone or in his planner and he can't remember any of them.

Wait a minute...He should know the number to the hospital! He stares at the ciphers on the phone and they start to dance in front of his eyes.

_Shit. _

He has to close his eyes to fight the dizziness away. His vision is better again, but are the last numbers to the hospital 459 or 945? He can't call 911. He thinks they would recognize him like Maggie did. He needs to call to someone close to him.

Wilson realizes that the only number that he knows for sure is House's. It's weird, maybe from dialing it so many times before? Whatever. He wastes no time and calls his friend.

When he hears only the beep and then the synthetic tone of House's voice mail, he's sure that luck has definitely left him alone for today.

_What the hell, there's nothing to lose._

He decides to try the hospital with 945 at the end. When he puts his finger on the first button to dial the number, the cashier is back in a second.

"Hey! You said one call. I'm not a charity!

_Oh no!_

Wilson nods quietly and lets the phone be. He has lost his chance.

"And now, I'd be grateful if you went away. You're scaring my customers."

The look from the cashier is piercing Wilson. He lowers his head and leaves with a quiet 'Thank you' on his lips.

Once outside he realizes that his head is pounding again and that he has no idea what to do. He sways a little and then his eyes spot on a 'toilets' sign on the wall. At least that's something. This will be a good place.

* * *

He lets the cold water splash against his face. Finally all the soot is gone, and also from his hands. When they are clean, he pours the water into his palms and drinks thirstily, wetting his sore throat. 

Then he dries himself up with some paper towels. He feels better now but he's still weak. He wants to sleep but doesn't know where he can.

Wilson takes some more gulps of water and emerges from the bathroom. He stops himself abruptly when he sees a police car standing in the front of the building.

He panics immediately, quickly turns around and hastily moves back into the men's room. Once inside he lets out a long breath. _That was close. _His injured mind believes that every policeman in the neighborhood must have his description.

When his breathing returns to normal, he steps into the stall and locks himself up in there. Now, he at least feels safe. He closes the toilet bowl and sits on the top of it, his head in his hands.

He feels trapped in his own mind and then from nowhere he hears Barry's scream again and then silence, and the cold voice saying 'Goodbye' to him. There's a buzzing in his ears and Wilson doesn't realize that he's falling down to the floor.

* * *

_Thanks for sticking with the story: )_


	18. Chapter 17

He's awoken by strong, loud thuds to the door of the stall. He blinks several times and tries to clear his mind again.

"Hey! What are you doing there? I need to clean this up!" Some woman's voice is shouting.

_Damn. _He must have passed out and ended up on the floor. Slowly, he scrambles to his knees and the pain in his head is stabbing him. The only thing he wants is to curl himself up and stay on the floor. However, he continues the process of standing up.

"Yeah...just a minute, I'll right out." He mumbles and tries to steady himself with the help of the wall. He has to suppress the urge to puke. He unlocks the door and steps out. The cleaning lady throws him the most disgusting glare.

"There should be some kind of prohibition for dossers! I'm sick of cleaning these bogs after _you_!" She's yelling in a very unpleasant tone for Wilson's ears and head, so he retreats quickly from the room.

She's still cursing when he's standing back outside. It's dark again and Wilson assumes that he was lying in that damn stall for the whole afternoon. He tightens his coat, already damaged on lots of places, and shivers. It seems to be another night without a roof over his head.

He sits on a concrete bench, holding his right hand tightly. It's still pretty swollen. He sees the cleaning lady emerge from bathroom. She doesn't see him and she is not looking in his direction.

_Good._

He thinks about going back in, but decides against this idea. It's too risky. Someone from the staff could see him and call the police just because of his appearance. He hates himself for looking homeless. At least now he has a relatively clean face.

The cold outside starts to be unbearable. It's worse than yesterday. Wilson only has two choices. Stay here and probably freeze to death, or leave.

Even though he's miserable, he doesn't want to be frozen, so he stands up and moves, almost limping, slowly towards the road.

* * *

The knocking on the door doesn't subside as he's limping through the hall. House was sleeping and now there's something to disturb him from his misery.

"I said go away!" He yells.

"House! It's me. You weren't picking up the phone!" Cuddy sounds desperate.

"That can happen when you switch it off!" His phone is still lying on the floor from earlier that day. "Go away!"

"I'm not going anywhere. Let me in...Please," her tone is soft now.

Finally the lock rattles and the door is opened. House is standing in the doorway only in his shorts and a rumpled T-shirt. He doesn't care if she sees his exposed thigh and that's bad.

"Can I come inside?" She asks hopefully but he doesn't answer. He just steps to the side to make way for her.

Cuddy goes into the apartment and finds nothing new. The mess is in its place like every time before. Then her eyes spot the splintered glass on the floor and the picture lying under it. She picks it up and puts it on the coffee table.

House doesn't move or say anything. He keeps standing by the door and stares at her. She's wearing a black outfit. It matches perfectly to her hair but also to her state of mind. He assumes that she has come directly from Wilson's 'Goodbye' party at the hospital.

She lifts her head and looks at him. "Your co-workers wanted me to let you know that they are sorry for your..._loss._"

He doesn't say a word and she doesn't know how to continue. "House?" Still he doesn't answer.

"Did you eat anything?" She glances at the coffee table where she sees an empty bottle of Scotch. Cuddy is clever enough not to comment on it.

"I assume, no. Here," she puts down a bag of packed food. "I've brought you something." Cuddy draws herself up again.

"Thanks." He limps slowly and lowers himself onto the couch.

"You don't want to know when the funeral will be, am I right?" She asks carefully.

"Yeah, you are." He doesn't look at her.

"Ok, anyway, it's Wednesday 4 pm, in the cemetery chapel. Just in case you change your mind," she adds sadly.

There is no response and Cuddy can't hold herself back and puts her hand on his shoulder. "I understand how you feel, but remember: _he_ wouldn't want you to be so sad. _He_ would want you to be yourself." She withdraws her hand and turns to leave.

When she's closing the door behind her, there are the tears in her eyes.

* * *

_I know it's short, but I wanted to post something for you today : )_


	19. Chapter 18

"Hey? Do you hear me? Hey!"

Wilson opens his eyes slowly to look into a young man's face. He realizes that he's lying on the hard concrete. The road.

_Shit. _He must have passed out at side of the road and fell down. He's lucky that a car hasn't run over him. He blinks a few more times.

The man helps him to the sitting position. "Are you sick? Should I call an ambulance?" 

_Better not. _

"No...I'm okay," he answers softly, and the man surveys him closely with his eyes.

"What happened?" He asks after a while.

Wilson thinks about it. He needs a new story. Maybe this accident won't be so bad. He can use this man for his plan. "Ehm...They've stolen my car and beaten me up." He lies for the umpteenth time and he isn't sure what is the truth anymore.

"I think I should bring you to the hospital," says the man and helps Wilson to stand up.

"No, it's not necessary." Wilson shakes his head.

"Then tell me at least where you live, and if it's not on the other side of the Earth, I'll bring you home." He smiles and Wilson slowly starts to believe that this man hasn't seen today's news.

"No it's not." Wilson smiles back and tells the man House's address.

"Alright, it's only maybe forty minutes from there." The man nods to himself and opens the door for Wilson.

They ride in silence and Wilson tries to suppress his whines from the pain. There's no reason to scare this man more than necessary. He also tries not to pass out in his seat. His state is getting worse by the minute.

As they are nearing the town, he starts to recognize some places. It's nice to be 'at home' again.

When the car slows down and then stops, and Wilson sees House's bike standing in front of the house he has a weird feeling in his stomach. He can't be sure if it's because of hunger or something else.

"So, you are home I think."

"Yeah..." Wilson sighs. He can't believe that he has managed it.

"Do you need anything else?" The man asks.

"Could you tell me what time is it?"

"Sure," he glances at his watch. "It's nearly eleven. Your wife is waiting for you?"

Wilson has to suppress a laugh. "Yeah, something like that. Thank you for your help." The next wave of pain and nausea washes over him when the man takes his hand to shake it.

* * *

The car is already gone and Wilson wonders if _it_ was a miracle. He stands on the pavement in front of House's apartment. There's darkness inside.

_House is asleep already? Not possible._

Wilson takes a deep breath to steady himself from falling. The exhaustion is pretty overwhelming and he's swaying the whole way to the door.

He doesn't know what he will say or do, but now he is at _home,_ so it doesn't really matter.

He's leaning on the door-frame when he knocks politely on the door. There's no response, so he knocks harder a few times. He hopes that House isn't away.

The light flashes in the window. "I said leave me alone!" House shouts from the inside.

Wilson is somehow used to this so he keeps knocking with the remaining strength, which he has. He hears the rustle from unlocking the door. 

House is standing inside and he's annoyed. _Cuddy was already here, so who's bothering..._

He opens the door. "I said--" Maybe for the very first time in his life, House just stands here with a gaping mouth. He doesn't have any words to say. This is just incredible! He must be seeing things... In front of him stands dirty, terrible looking and exhausted James Wilson and House is sure that this is the nicest moment in his life.

* * *

_Here we are! I hope you are satisfied that Wilson has made it home : ) Thanks for reading and sorry for the delay! _


	20. Chapter 19

_Got something new for you : )_

* * *

House continues to stare at him. This can't be possible, he has seen the body, and it _was_ Wilson. The funeral is on Wednesday...Cuddy...He blinks.

"Hey," Wilson says weakly and sways. Only reflexively House sticks his hands under his friend's armpits and prevents him from falling. His leg is screaming at him in agony as he drags Wilson inside as his thigh has to carry the double weight.

"_I'm sorry_...," Wilson mumbles and passes out.

House lowers him onto the floor, kneeling beside him. His shock is still present but his 'doctor self' takes over as he cares for Wilson.

"Wilson? Say something! Wilson!" There is no response so House doesn't try it anymore.

He checks Wilson's breathing. Stable. It's better than nothing and House is satisfied. Then he runs his fingers gently over Wilson's body for injuries and winces when his fingers rest on Wilson's right wrist. _This must already be a few days old!_

The rest of the examination is quick. Contused jaw, rigid abdomen - probably internal bleeding and Wilson most likely has a fever as well. From the state of his skin House assumes that he's also dehydrated.

House doesn't waste a minute. This time, he switches his phone _on_ and dials Cuddy.

"Yeah? House?" She is mostly stunned to hear him.

"Are you in the hospital?" He asks quickly.

"Yes, but what--?" She stammers.

"Ok, send an ambulance to my place, quickly!"

"House, what's going on? Are you hurt?"

"Wilson...he...he's here." House adds.

There's is a silence on the other side before Cuddy speaks. "House, I know you miss him, but there's no way--" she is cut off.

"Damnit! Stop analyzing me and send the damn ambulance!" He's annoyed that she isn't taking him seriously.

"House, it's not possible for him to--" she is cut off again.

"I don't know what's possible, but he's laying there in front of me and I think he has an internal bleeding somewhere in his abdomen, so send the ambulance and prepare the OR."

It takes a while until she fully takes in his words. "I'm sending the ambulance but only because I know that you wouldn't joke about _him._ See you soon."

She ends the call and House shakes his head in disbelief. He tosses the phone away and looks at Wilson.

His friend is pale and dirty and House wonders what he has gone through. When he checks his pulse, he realizes that he's touching Wilson's neck almost sacredly. How nice it is to feel the pumping of the carotid under his fingers...

House has never believed in God or any other religious things, but when he stares at the figure of his friend, lying quietly in front of him and looking so vulnerable...

_He was dead!_

...maybe he will change his mind after all.

* * *

Everything moves quickly then and when they are leaving the ambulance, Wilson doesn't look so _alive _anymore with all of the many tubes and wires around him.

He's pale and his heart rate is unsteady. House wonders how long he was running outside in this state with his injuries. Another few hours and he would have been _dead._ This time for sure.

The paramedics have confirmed House's diagnosis and they are wheeling him to the OR. House gives up the effort to run along with them and slows down his speed.

When he steps into the observatory room he finds Cuddy waiting there already. She has a baffled face - the one which House rarely sees on her.

He shakes his head. "Don't ask me how. I don't know the answer." He stops her upcoming question.

"But..." Her face is full of disbelief and she doesn't know whether to cry or laugh.

"I don't know how or why, but he was all of a sudden knocking on my door." Even House isn't sure how to feel. The shock from his friend's death is somehow still present and yet Wilson is lying there quietly under sheets and the pure lights, with a big mystery around him.

"I...I don't know what to say," she stammers.

"Me neither." House shakes his head and limps towards the glass wall, pressing his forehead onto it.

It's visible that Wilson is already stabilized, but the surgery hasn't begun yet.

"Did he _say_ anything?" She asks carefully.

"I just opened the door and he passed out almost immediately. The only thing he mumbled was 'I'm sorry'..."

Cuddy doesn't answer. She only sees how House grips his cane stronger and how he lowers his head.

"I hope he'll able to tell us everything soon." She says quietly. "I'm calling the police."

There's no response and House doesn't move from his position. He continues to stare at the unmoving body, which is lying down on the table. Memories of the burnt skin and hair are still popping up in his memory.

His leg has another opinion but he stays there until the last stitch is sewed up and Wilson is wheeled into the ICU.

_tbc..._

* * *

_Thanks for all the wonderful reviews! I love them all and I'm happy that so many people like this! : )_


	21. Chapter 20

Once outside the room House is almost knocked down by Niles, who's going through the corridor.

"Dr. House! I was looking for Dr. Cuddy. Is it true that Dr. Wilson is alive?" Niles asks the question so commonly like he could be asking House about the weather.

"Yeah. I thought you were looking for Dr. Cuddy, so can I leave now?" House isn't interested in any longer conversations with the police. It's obviously Cuddy's job. Plus, he wants to go to Wilson as quickly as possible.

"I need to speak with both of you, so please would you accompany me to Dr. Cuddy's office?"

House wonders how this policeman can be so importunate. He sighs and without a word he heads to the Cuddy's office. Niles only shakes his head but then follows.

* * *

"I wanted to call you anyway." Niles says to the Cuddy and shakes her hand.

The three of them take their seats. House, like usual, slides into the couch and Cuddy and Niles take a place by the desk.

"When did Dr. Wilson show up at your door?" Niles turns his head to House.

House sighs. He's evidently very bored with the conversation. "About eleven o'clock this...whoops _yesterday _evening."

Niles scrawls some notes and House wonders how many notebooks he ruins by doing his job.

Cuddy sits calmly in her seat behind the desk. Tonight's events are probably too much for her to cope with easily.

"We were able to take some fingerprints from Dr. Wilson's car. They led us to some guy...," he pauses, looking something up in his notes. "His name is Peter Jones alias Roy."

Neither Cuddy nor House says a word and Niles wonders why these two are so _weird_ tonight.

"He is as silent as a grave and we assume that Dr. Wilson has seen him, so he can testify--" Niles is cut off by House.

"Slow down. He's hardly out of the surgery and _you_ won't speak to him until _I'm_ sure that he's alright."

Cuddy has to smile slightly for the first time in days. House sounds so possessive!

"I'm sorry. I didn't know that he was in a bad state when he showed up." Niles apologizes. "But still, he's our main witness and we'll need his testimony sooner or later. It's in his own interest to help us."

This time Cuddy takes the word. "Of course, Dr. House doesn't mind it. We're just all a little bit shaken."

Niles nods. "We think that there was a mistake and that Dr. Wilson was kidnapped only by a bad coincidence."

He gets only disbelieving glares. "Well, there's no one who would want to hurt Dr. Wilson and this other man was very similar to him. You saw it yourself."

Cuddy is looking sadly at him and House lowers his head.

"The identity of this dead man is still unknown." Niles closes the theme. "Well, you have the contact for me, right?"

Cuddy answers with a nod and stands up to offer her hand to Niles. House doesn't bother with saying goodbye to him.

* * *

"House, you should get some sleep, really." Cuddy throws him a sympathetic glare.

"Don't send me away. I'm not going to sleep until this is explained." His eyes are speaking clearly - Cuddy can't stop him from going to Wilson.

"But he's going to be under for at least the next three hours."

"Don't care!" House is shouting from the corridor. Sometimes Cuddy wonders, how he moves quickly when he wants to.

* * *

House is staring at his friend in the ICU room. Like the other patients, every little change in his state is monitored and every heart beat echoes in the form of a sharp beep from the machine.

They have stopped his internal bleeding without serious complications. The reconstructive surgery for his right wrist is planned in a few days, because he needs to regain some strength.

When he arrived, he had been severely dehydrated and enfeebled. Due to this fact, there are bags of fluids and IV nutrition hanging politely next to the antibiotics.

Wilson is sleeping calmly and House feels a strange twitching in his stomach by this sight. Memories of a burned body and the feeling of total helplessness are radiating into his mind.

Why did Wilson come to _him_? And not only that but, why did he disappear? Questions are attacking House's analytical mind. He hopes that Wilson will be able to tell him an answer to all these questions soon, but it's not as necessary as the fact that his friend is lying _alive_ in front of him.

House will give him time. Time to recover and to reveal the truth. Still, there's nothing else what House wants right now, than to hear his friend's voice again, to _speak_ with him, maybe make him laugh or perhaps yell...whatever.

In the last few days House has also realized, that it's not so funny to take the pills when there's nobody behind you to admonish you and that the life really sucks when you don't have any true _friend_.

He seats himself in a white visitor's chair. It's cold and uncomfortable, but right now, he doesn't care. Everything what matters is lying in front of him.

Wilson stirs and opens his eyes slowly. He seems confused from the lights and from the beeping. At first he probably doesn't realize that he's safe in the hospital. He starts to shift his body restlessly in the bed.

In a second there's a hand on his shoulder and a familiar voice... "Wilson, it's okay, you're in the hospital. Can you hear me?"

_House._

He nods and turns his head towards the voice. Blinking a few times he focuses on his friend and then all of the memories come slowly back.

"House?" His voice is weak and rough. He starts to cough immediately.

There's no response but relatively strong hands are lifting him very carefully up, pulling him into a tight embrace.

"I've never had the right reason or time to do this, but now I do." House mumbles with his head on Wilson's left shoulder.

Wilson is stunned at first but then he leans onto his friend and hugs back as though he should never let go.

--

_The end._

* * *

Yes, it's true. This is the end, but I know that maybe there are some things unfinished in this fic. So I'm not promising anything but if you're interested in a sequel, please let me know. I definitely need a break now but I'm open to new ideas and this story can later continue. You can also suggest what you want to see there! : )

As for this first part I want to say a big **'Thank you'** to all of you who have read and followed this! **Special thanks** to all of you who commented, because comments are like water for the plants and I love and apprecieate all of them. And finally **the most special thanks** and hugs to _spncsifreak, _who belive it or not has reviewed every single chapter from the prologue to the end. Yay!


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